


Muscle Memory

by nyargles



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: After-life Crisis, Coda, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Insecure Phil, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyargles/pseuds/nyargles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of the handguns they own are lying on the bed. Phil is standing in his underwear, a blindfold around his eyes, and is systematically dismantling and reassembling each of the guns.</p><p>"Um," says Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muscle Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Real summary: Phil has insecurities. Also he just wants to be able to fucking strip this gun down.

The gun safe is open when Clint gets home. 

By home, he means the horrifically suburban two-storey thing that Phil bought years ago after the first time he nearly died on a mission and decided that buying a house was the best way to reassure himself that there was stability in his life. And by gun safe, he means the hidden room behind their bedroom that they happen to keep the guns in.

All of the handguns they own are lying on the bed. Phil is standing in his underwear, a blindfold around his eyes, and is systematically dismantling and reassembling each of the guns.

"Um," says Clint.

"Phil?" says Clint.

"Is this A Thing?" says Clint.

A Thing is unofficial Phil-and-Clint code for things they have not told each other: past experiences or regrets or buried dreams. They're not exactly secrets; just things that never came up one way or another. In ascending order of frequency, they tend to be A Thing When I Was Drunk, A Stupid Thing Once, and A Fucking Thing You Should Have Told Me. To balance that out, A Sex Thing is fourth on that list.

Phil drops the Beretta onto the top of the pile. "Should be just – muscle memory." His shoulders sag. 

Clint is somehow both relieved and disappointed that this is not A Sex Thing. He walks up behind Phil, rustling enough for Phil to know where he is, and wraps his arms around Phil's waist, gently folding his hands across his stomach. "Long day?" He asks, pressing his cheek to Phil's shoulder.

"I killed Hall," says Phil, pulling the blindfold off and tossing it on top of the guns. "Saved the team. Saved a lot of people. Killed the one I was sent to retrieve. Can't disassemble a gun in under three seconds anymore." There are a lot of things Phil can't do anymore.

Pressing a kiss behind Phil's ear, Clint slides them both onto the bed, narrowing avoiding all the guns. "You'll get there again. It's just practice." He ignores the bit where Phil is feeling guilty for killing an asset – a good man. They don't dissect their feelings or vocalise the crushing guilt, the red staining their ledger or every mission would leave them a mass of raw, exposed nerves. Phil shared what he wanted; Clint accepts it and it works exactly the same the other way around.

"I put in my time for practice already, years and years of it," grumbles Phil, who reaches for another gun – the Smith and Wesson semi-automatic – and tries it again. It takes him ten and a half seconds. (SHIELD's official pass time is eight.)

"And then you went into cardiac arrest, and in bargaining with God to let you come back to my miserable ass, you traded in your muscle mass and some of your more boring memories," quips Clint, because it's completely true. 

There are odd gaps missing in Phil's memories now, and he doesn't even know where they all are. It just comes up sometimes when Clint says something like 'Remember when we went to St Lucia?' and Phil will frown. Sometimes, his muscles don't work exactly the way he wants them to, and he'll look down at his fingers and wiggle them. That, paired with the loss of muscle mass due to lying in bed for a month and the painstakingly careful physical therapy to stretch out the chest scars, is probably the thing that distresses Phil the most about dying.

Phil turns and gives him a quick kiss. "When you say cardiac arrest, you mean speared by an Asgardian goat-god, right?" Phil likes to think of increasingly ridiculous names for Loki.

"That's new," says Clint, grinning.

"I thought of it on the way home," Phil admits. "I needed a new one in my frustration that I apparently cannot strip a fucking gun anymore."

Clint pulls the gun out of Phil's hands and entwines their fingers instead. He can feel the calluses on his hand, old ones from years of missions, and the new, tender ones from the last day when he's been practising. "Phil. It'll come back to you."

"I know," says Phil, and it's more a threat than a statement. "It's just – the team. Melinda. Ward. They're the best. They don't even – never mind." He sighs again, and stretches. Clint knows what it's like; he has similar stabs of insecurity every time he takes a step back and realises that he's an Avenger next to people like Steve Rogers.

Clint starts moving all the guns to the bedside table before Phil leans back to lie across the bed and drags Clint with him.. He doesn't know for sure that they're all unloaded but he trusts that Phil wouldn't have been waving them around the bedroom with a blindfold on if they were. "It's not the team, Phil. It's your team. You lead them, you give the orders, you approve all the plans. It's just like Strike Team Delta."

Phil's face screws up like he hadn't thought of that. "It's different," he says finally, pulling Clint's arm back over him. Clint can feel the tension start to dissipate with every subsequent breath he takes. "At least with you and Natasha, I knew I could do it. I didn't have to, I was the handler. But I could." He sets a hand on Clint's cheek, rubbing his thumb over the stubble and says dryly, "It also doesn't help that my boyfriend has spectacular biceps and is now an Avenger."

"I will trade you Tony Stark for Ward."

"No deal. Even Ward is not that bad." Phil grimaces. Clint puts his arms around Phil and flexes his biceps a bit. "Okay, being able to enjoy the spectacular biceps is pretty awesome," admits Phil, squeezing one arm.

Clint eyes the blindfold, and the large pile of handguns next to his alarm clock, and his boyfriend still in his underwear sprawled across him and groping his biceps. "Are we sure that the blindfold and guns are not A Thing?"

**Author's Note:**

> Memory loss after Sudden Cardiac Arrest is a real thing. Other effects can include changes in habits, forgetfulness, changes in personality, changes in ability/methods of learning and difficulties in comprehension.


End file.
